


Zipless

by Laura Shapiro (laurashapiro)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-05
Updated: 2000-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/Laura%20Shapiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joyce turns the tables on Spike in this totally gratuitous PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zipless

**Author's Note:**

> For Te, who grovels so fetchingly

A flare of red exploding phosphorescence pressed against Joyce's  
eyelids and she woke, irritable already. The vivid heat of the  
dream faded as she rolled onto her belly, wincing as her breasts  
flattened against the mattress. Ow. Shit. PMS.

Joyce flung herself back onto her side, shielding her eyes  
against the golden glare reeding in through the blinds. That was  
a hell of a nap -- it was almost dinnertime.

Not that she had any reason to keep to regular meals, not with  
Buffy gone. Another Sunday afternoon, another weekend without a  
phone call. She hadn't seen Buffy in weeks, not since  
Faith...Joyce gritted her teeth. It still galled her that Faith  
had been right about that. Sure, Buffy's appearance that night  
had been timely, but it was beginning to look like Joyce had to  
be in mortal danger in order to qualify for a visit.

No, no, don't think that. Buffy loves you, and you know it.  
You're just...in a mood.

Not in a mood to get up and cook, that's for sure. Joyce's hand  
discovered itself idly scratching her groin. She was itchy,  
restless. Bloated. She knew what she needed. She needed sushi.

The idea suddenly seemed profound. Sushi, with its light,  
sprightly savor. A bowl of salty, hot miso with cubes of slippery  
tofu. Tuna's meaty, slick texture sliding over her tongue, wasabi  
tingling in her nostrils...who had time for a shower? She threw a  
halterdress over her panties, slid into some sandals, grabbed her  
purse, and headed out.

The sun was down as she parked the car and headed across the  
strip mall. Her stomach growled, and visions of maguro danced in  
her head. She didn't hear the footsteps.

Didn't sense him until his smoke-smelling hand was clamped down  
over her mouth, an arm across her chest like an iron bar.

"Now you *can't* go out in Sunnydale smelling like that. Really,  
Joyce, you ought to know better."

Spike. And to think she'd just been missing Buffy. She almost snorted.

But he was dragging her back to the car, shoving her against the  
hard metal, the long cold leather length of his body pressed  
against her back.

"Get that door open." He adjusted his hold on her to fish out her  
keys, his right hand leaving her mouth while his left arm still  
held her against the car, against him.

"You don't frighten me, Spike. I've seen you drunk and mooning  
over your ex-girlfriend, remember?"

"Oh, yeh?" He seemed almost to consider this as a brand-new  
possibility, but she didn't buy it. "Maybe I don't want you to be frightened."

The laugh almost made it out of her, but then there was the sharp  
thrust of his hips, his hardness against her ass, and she sucked  
the laugh down with a gasp of recognition and longing. God, he  
felt good. Was it so wrong?

"Well, if you want me to open the door you'd better hand me the  
keys and stop trying to hammer me through the car...at least  
until we get inside."

She unlocked the door and then he was shoving her in, strong, so  
strong she fell almost onto her hands and knees, bruising her  
shin against the running board. "Ouch! Okay, look, I --" she  
craned her neck and found him clutching his skull and grimacing. "Spike?"

"Ugh. Just...oh...just shut up and drive."

"Okay, I will." She turned around, wrapped her arms around his  
neck, and yanked him into the back seat. He fell half on top of  
her, all cool flesh and cigarette smoke and crisp hair, one lean  
leg between her own. She twined herself around him and groaned as  
his weight pressed painfully against her swollen breasts and  
belly. Splish, and was that how incredibly hot she felt or had  
she just started bleeding?

"Ah...Joyce?"

She curled her fingers in his stiff locks and tongued his cold  
ear. "You said you wanted me to drive," she whispered. "Now shut  
up and ride."

She could feel him trembling under her breath, under her fingers  
\-- they must feel so hot to him, she thought, and the idea made  
her even wetter. Wrapped around his leg, she humped his thigh  
shamelessly, the firm press against her mons sending  
too-indistinct pleasure pulsing through her.  
He was shoving her panties to one side as her tongue  
opened his mouth, and she tasted blood on him as he sought hers,  
thrusting two fingers inside with no preliminaries. It was just  
what she needed right now, so absurd that it was right, and she  
made it right by claiming his tongue in the same moment.

Cool, slick tongue, rough almost as a cat's, tasting of --

She really didn't want to think about that, instead thought about  
how wet and open and hungry she felt inside, how almost painfully  
tight at the entrance, an ache spreading out from his fingers  
until her clit was a humming, sore, miserable thing. She broke  
the kiss.

"On your back. Now. And get those damned pants off."

Spike opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and rolled over.  
There was barely room, and she narrowly missed rolling into the  
wheelwell. When was the last time she'd had sex in a car?

She managed to wait until the black jeans were halfway down his  
thighs before she pounced, slurping his pale cock into her mouth  
with audible, ridiculous noises that would have made her smile  
around it if she weren't so damned hungry. He was big, but she  
was devouring him anyway, slathering his shaft and feeling the  
head poke against the ring of muscle at the back of her throat.  
Her eyes watered. Spike made a gurgling sound and his head fell  
back. She stopped abruptly.

"You aren't a natural blonde."

"P...piss off." Weakly.

She did laugh then, a full-tilt guffaw from the belly, joyful and  
utterly, utterly careless. She swung one leg over his slim, fine  
hips and took him without another word. Right, so right sliding  
inside her, somehow warm but nothing to match her own heat, and  
she tightened herself around him, the ache spreading everywhere  
now. So right to thrust herself along his length, opening herself  
more and more as the ache grew and grew. The only thing more  
right was her own damp fingers sliding across her begging clit  
with urgent strokes.

Spike was panting now, gone, dazed in that almost meditative  
place men went when they were trying to last long enough. She was  
touched, really. As a sort of reward, she reached behind her to  
coddle his balls, hair and curdled skin tightening under her  
fingertips. Spike reached for her breasts and squeezed, and pain  
blossomed through her, connecting to the ache in her pussy in  
thin, throbbing threads. She gasped, fell forward, her fingers  
moving in frantic circles now, her other hand gripping him for  
purchase, nails digging into the plane of his chest, as she  
moved, as red exploded behind her eyes, as she was coming and  
coming and coming...

Her mouth was open and dry, so she must have cried out, but she  
had no sense of it. Spike was thrashing under her, for she had  
stopped moving, and now he was the one in need. Spike could be so sweet.

She moved off of him without a word, and the sound he made was  
probably a whine. He grabbed her by the neck as she was reaching  
for her panties, and released her just as abruptly to clutch at  
his head in pain. She dressed herself, tidied her hair.

"You bitch." Still weakly. He was so *cute*.

"Pull your pants up, Spike, and get the hell out of my car."

He did so, muttering. "I'll be back, pet. Believe me. And when I do..."

"Yes, yes, I know. Now beat it." Joyce gave him a gentle shove  
and shut the door after him, climbed, with some difficulty, into  
the front seat, and started the engine. She wiped the foggy  
windshield and watched him melt into the shadows. How do they  
*do* that, she wondered, shrugged, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Circled the block. Pulled back into the lot, into the same  
parking space. Looked both ways, and got out of the car. After  
all, there was still some maguro sashimi with her name on it.

 

END


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